do you think there's prozac for wizards?
by curtaincall2
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over, but Hermione Granger can't seem to move on with her life. In an attempt to forget the trauma she's been through (and the romantic disappointment following her now-or-never kiss with Ron), she's enrolled in a study-abroad program at the Salem Witches' Institute. But college life is awfully dull compared to saving the world...


**July 1998, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:**

"I'm denying you readmission to Hogwarts."

"What?" Hermione Granger slammed her hand down on the table that stood between her and Minerva McGonagall. "Professor-I mean, Headmistress-you can't be serious? My marks were stellar. And, fine, I was in detention rather more often than the usual, but you know as well as I do that it was hardly ever my fault-"

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall cut her off. "I am well acquainted with your academic record. It shows quite plainly that Hogwarts has nothing more to teach you."

"But my NEWTs!"

"You are of course welcome to take any of the NEWTs at the next administration. I understand your friends Potter and Weasley intend to do the same."

"Yes, but Harry and Ron are only taking Defense Against the Dark Arts! I want to do Transfiguration, and Charms, and Potions, and…"

"And I have no doubt you will be able to pass with flying colors, without the additional expense of seventh-year tuition. Your professors will of course provide recommendations to any potential employers-though I doubt the girl who helped defeat Lord Voldemort will find any difficulty in being hired."

"But I don't want that...I'm not ready."

"To leave school?"

"To leave Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts as you knew it is gone. Our staff has been decimated, our student body scarred beyond repair. I understand your longing to return, but you cannot go back to the past."

"If we hadn't smashed the stock of Time-Turners…" Hermione muttered under her breath.

The corner of McGonagall's mouth quirked up in a smile. "I was speaking metaphorically. However, if you truly wish to continue your education, there are other options."

"Like what?"

McGonagall fished a stack of pamphlets out of her drawer. "Magical law school, for one. Only a few years of training, and it leads to a lucrative career. And then there's the University of Merlin, which is approximately analogous to the Muggles' Oxbridge, though hardly anyone goes there without some firm academic goal or interest. And you don't have that, do you?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "I had thought about learning to be an Animagus…"

"I would be the person to go to for that. I'd be happy to teach you evenings and weekends if you were working some other job. You could Apparate into Hogsmeade."

"...but I really don't think that's what I want to do right now. In fact, I don't have any idea what I want to do. All I know is that there's more for me to learn, and I missed a year of my education and I'm going to get it back."

"I think I have the perfect thing," said McGonagall, and placed one of the pamphlets in front of her. "Salem Witches' Institute, in America. Despite the name, it went co-educational in the sixties, and there's a one-year program specifically for international students like you who want a chance to study abroad. There should be others your age there, and there's a number of classes they offer that cover things you haven't learned here. It would offer you time to figure things out, if that's what you're looking for."

"Thank you," Hermione said, taking the pamphlet. "I really do appreciate it."

McGonagall smiled. "And, you know, I do hope you'll consider looking into teaching as a career. I'd be honored to have you on my faculty."

**September 1998, The Burrow:**

"I don't understand," Ron Weasley said, resting his head on the doorframe, "why you're taking a Muggle airplane to get there. I mean, honestly, a great metal thing like that staying up in the air without magic? I'd be terrified."

"Well," Hermione replied, not looking up from her packing, "for one thing, I happen to be perfectly comfortable with airplanes. A good deal more comfortable than I am on a broomstick, certainly. And how else would you suggest I get there? I'm nowhere near able to Apparate across continents, and I'm bringing far too many things with me to hold them all and a Portkey safely. Flying the Muggle way is really the only sensible option. Why do you care, anyhow? It's not you going."

"Don't want you to get hurt," Ron muttered. "Even if we, y'know, broke up, that doesn't mean I don't worry about your safety."

Hermione finished folding the shirt in her hands and stood up. "I don't think we really 'broke up.' It's not like we were ever together."

Ron shifted his weight, avoiding eye contact with her. "All I meant was-during the battle-you…"

"Kissed you? Yes. And afterwards we talked about it and decided it was a mistake and that we were going to be mature about it," Hermione said evenly, fixing her own eyes on a smudge of dirt on Ron's collar, "and that kissing when you're about to die isn't exactly a recipe for a healthy adult relationship."

"Right. We said that."

"Ron," said Hermione, exasperated, "will you for goodness' sake look at me? You know perfectly well that I love you very dearly, but the fact of the matter is that we simply aren't suited."

"I know."

"So let's just not talk about it anymore."

"Oh yes," said Ron under his breath, apparently operating under the delusion that she couldn't hear him. "Let's be mature adults and not talk about the bloody kiss. Let's bottle up our feelings, Merlin knows that's healthy!"

Hermione chose to ignore this remark.

"When do you move to London?" she asked instead.

"Move to London?"

"Yes, I thought you were going to be working with George in the joke shop now that Fr-now that he needs the help."

"I am, but I'm just going to, y'know, live at home and Apparate in every day."

"You're going to live at home?"

"Yeah. I mean, come on, I'm eighteen, it's not that odd to still be living with my parents, is it? And this way I can save for Auror training instead of paying rent."

"No, it makes sense," Hermione admitted. "I just thought you'd have wanted to be gone."

"Eh." Ron shrugged. "Mum'll be glad to have one of us around now that Ginny's gone back to Hogwarts."

"All right, then, I suppose I've got to give you your present now."

"Present?"

"Going-away present, yeah."

"I sort of thought that was supposed to go the other way 'round."

"Trust me," said Hermione, "you'll like it." She slammed the suitcase shut and shouted, "Harry! Get in here!"

"Oh, he gets a present too?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes," said Hermione, raising her own eyebrows right back, "and Ginny's getting one too, so don't go thinking you're special."

"What is it?" Harry Potter poked his disheveled head into the room.

"Come and get your present," Hermione told him, and pulled a bag out from behind her suitcase. "It's so you two can write me while I'm in America, because it's a bit far for an owl, don't you think?" She handed the boys each a parcel, but could scarcely wait for them to finish unpacking the contents before she began to explain them. "They're portable computers! Ron, you probably don't know how to use one, but Harry can show you."

"So you want us to, what, email you?" Harry asked. "Because I don't think there's too many wizards with Internet access…"

"Well, that's where the magic comes in," Hermione said, grinning widely. "You see, most wizards, even older Muggle-borns, have a great deal of difficulty with computers and other technology. But I did a bit of tinkering and I found out how to enchant the laptops so they can transmit email messages from anywhere, to anywhere, no need for the Muggle networks. A sort of combination of science and magic. I'm actually quite proud of it."

"You ought to be," Ron said, turning his computer over in his hands. "I don't have the foggiest clue how this thing works, let alone how to charm it."

Hermione shrugged. "It was tricky, but I basically created a separate magical web that's accessible only if you know the right incantations and so forth, which of course I'll show you before I go. And then I just had to set up a website, , to serve as the user interface. That's all I've got so far, but I've got some ideas about how to adapt other Muggle inventions to wizards' use; it's like your dad's always saying, Ron, they're getting clever enough at getting around magic that in some cases they've got superior efficiency."

"This is genius, Hermione," said Harry, shaking his head. "You were wasted on fighting Voldemort, honestly…"

But the joke didn't go over as well as he had evidently hoped, and there was a moment of awkward silence.

They had reached a sort of unspoken agreement, over the summer, not to talk about the losses of the last year. Hermione had wondered whether it wouldn't be healthier to have it all out in the open, because she was bubbling up inside with sadness and it seemed pretty likely Harry and Ron were, too, though they seemed determined not to show it. Even Mrs. Weasley had been careful to keep her sobbing (which had grown less and less frequent as time went on) within the walls of her own room, at least nominally. Hermione herself had begun the computer project in an attempt to stave off having to deal with...all of it, really.

It had been easier, almost, during the war, because there was no time to dwell on the pain. Now it seemed as though there was nothing but time: they were adults, getting jobs and going abroad and moving out, and their days were no longer bound to the Gryffindor common room, or the castle grounds, or even the forest campsites they'd frequented for the past year. And so Hermione had found herself, every so often, breaking down in the middle of her work to cry over Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Dobby and Sirius and Dumbledore...because only after Voldemort was vanquished had the true cost of victory become clear to her.

But she was leaving for America tomorrow, back to school and on to adventures, and she desperately hoped that the change of scene would bring about a change of mood.

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shouted from downstairs.

"I'd better go," he said, tucking the laptop under his arm awkwardly. "See you later."

"What's going on there?" Harry asked as soon as Ron was out of earshot.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Come on, Hermione. I've seen him moping around. Honestly, I'm amazed he's managing to be civil to you."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Hermione said resolutely. "We mutually agreed not to pursue a relationship."

"Yeah, see, that's the part I don't get, though, because I was reasonably sure that you two were pretty much madly in love with each other."

"Don't be ridiculous. People don't fall madly in love at eighteen, and if they do, it rarely ends well."

"Oh, thank you so very much," Harry said bitterly, and Hermione felt a jolt of guilt as she remembered that Harry's own parents hadn't been much older than they were, and their marriage, while happy, had certainly not ended well.

"I didn't mean that. It's just-people hardly ever end up with the people they fancied when they were younger, that's all."

"Yeah, but it can't hurt to try, can it, if you care enough? I mean, what, do you think Ginny and I are doomed?"

"No! Of course not. In fact, I want you to give her the laptop I enchanted for her. You're going to visit Hogwarts soon, aren't you?"  
"Sure…" Harry said, but he didn't look like he was quite ready to give up the Ron conversation.

"Look," Hermione said, "it doesn't have anything to do with you, all right? I appreciate your concern, but it just doesn't work logically. Even if...well, I'm leaving for America tomorrow, so it'll all be moot, won't it?"

"I suppose," Harry said, sounding unconvinced.

"Attention, passengers waiting to board Flight 2034 to Boston, Massachusetts, USA, please proceed to Gate 21. Flight 2034 to Boston, boarding now at Gate 21."

"I suppose this is where we leave you," Ron said, looking nervously around the Muggle airport.

"Right," said Hermione, and nodded at the two of them awkwardly. "I'll miss you. Both of you. And you've got to promise to figure out my website, all right? I want to hear all about everything that's going on at home."

"You've got it," Harry said, smiling, and stepped forward to give her a parting hug. "You're going to be the smartest person those witches have ever seen, you know that?"

Hermione laughed shakily and tightened her arms around him. "I'm glad you think so."

Harry let go of her, their hug over, and began demonstrating an obviously feigned interest in the magazine stand nearby.

She looked at Ron, who stuck out his hand for her to shake.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, and enveloped him in a hug even tighter than the one she'd given Harry.

"You take care of yourself, all right?" he told her. "I may not have paid attention in History of Magic, but even I know Salem doesn't have a stellar reputation."

"I'll be careful."

"Good. And if you need me, you just write me, using an owl or that computer or whatever other brilliant device you dream up, and I'll, I'll Apparate from island to island until I cross the Atlantic Ocean, you know?"

"Okay," Hermione said, and he kissed her gently on top of her head and let her go.

"Goodbye," she said, to both of them, and turned away with a final wave of her hand.

The flight was scheduled to take seven hours, so she had brought a satchel full of books (another Undetectable Extension Charm, because why not avoid the baggage fees?), their covers magically disguised as novels. But as they lifted off, she found she couldn't keep her eyes on "Twenty Notable Feminist Witches: From Circe to Clytemnestra Cormier-Calloway." She focused on the window, instead, the houses and roads growing ever smaller as they ascended, filling her with an unaccountable urge to cry.

"Are you alright, miss?" the flight attendant asked, proffering a cup of tea.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione answered, blinking away the beginnings of tears. "Something in my eye, that's all."

"Very good, miss." The stewardess moved along.

The man next to her had a Discman plugged into his headphones, and she could hear the bass beat of the music. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window, soothed to a near-sleep by the soft rhythms.

It was going to be a long year.


End file.
